


journey's end

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Arguing, Bad Flirting, Flirting, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Reunion Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, idk i do what i want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 02:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13425114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: Drift and Ratchet arrive on board the Lost Light again, and there's something Drift still has to contend with.





	journey's end

**Author's Note:**

> First note: this is a pretend land where Drift and Ratchet got back to the ship before DOTL. Because I can. 
> 
> Second note: Drift is extremely extra (as usual) and Megatron is.................................... well. He's old.
> 
> Third note: beginning lines came from Flirtation by Rita Dove
> 
>  
> 
> I'm an extremely big nerd

 

_Outside the sun_

_has rolled up her rugs_

 

_and night strewn salt_

_across the sky. My heart_

 

_is humming a tune_

_I haven’t heard in years!_

 

***

 

 

The purpose of meditation was centering and quieting. Focus. And Drift did plenty of it, but sometimes he felt as though he were more successful here on the sparring deck, the weight of  his swords in his hands a perfect kind of balance. A comfort.

 

Was it just a replacement for the blasters he’d abandoned? He wanted to say no, that this was different… but he wasn’t always so sure.

 

What he _was_ sure of was that someone had erased his data on the sparring drone and he was having to get it re-acquainted with his level of combat. An irritation into which he would gladly channel other just as inconvenient emotions.

 

Drift sighed, pausing after the latest round. Another thing he was sure of was when someone was watching him. And given what — or rather, who — he’d come home to, so to speak, he had an educated guess as to their identity. He half-turned towards the gated observation area. “Is this what you do now?” he asked. “Lurk in the shadows as others use the ship’s facilities?”

 

Megatron snorted, stepping closer to the barrier. “No,” he finally answered. “You’re special.”

 

“Lucky me.”

 

Megatron remained silent for another moment, and probably with good reason; not even Drift was sure how sarcastic he was being. But, eventually, he remarked, “You still come to places like this to work out your frustrations.”

 

Drift pursed his lips as he sliced through a holographic neck with one of his swords. “I guess so. Does it matter?”

 

There was a gentle, idle shift of metal. Drift wasn’t looking at him so he couldn’t see, but he imagined Megatron shrugging his broad shoulders anyway. “Refreshing to know that some things don’t change, I suppose.”

 

Dropping his ready posture, Drift stood upright and glanced over at Megatron again. “Why are you here?”

 

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

 

Drift scoffed. “Have I?”

 

Megatron slipped through the gate in the barrier, somehow making the motion smooth, his gaze never leaving Drift’s. “What would you call it?” he asked, now leaning back against the barrier.

 

Arching an optic ridge, Drift sheathed the swords, even if they were only practice blades. “Priorities,” he replied, resting his hands on his hips. The twitch at the corner of Megatron’s mouth was minute, something others would probably hardly note — but rarely was anyone as equipped to read Megatron as Drift. He crossed his arms, trying not to feel too smug.

 

“Maybe you really haven’t changed,” he said drily.

 

Drift laughed softly, crossing his arms. “Maybe,” he replied. “But seriously, what was I supposed to do? I thought it was safe to assume that our meeting again might get more complicated than a brief meeting could tackle. I was also a little more worried about if I would have things thrown at me for stepping aboard this ship again.”

 

Megatron hummed. “And you think ‘brief meetings’ settled everything with yourself and Rodimus and Ultra Magnus? And that ignoring me would be best?”

 

Now it was Drift who pursed his lips. “No,” he said.

 

“Were you worried about how this crew might feel if one notorious ex-Decepticon made a quick path to another?”

 

Drift didn’t reply. What could he say? That concern was obvious, particularly under the circumstances in which he’d left the Lost Light. Ratchet had brought him his Autobrand, Drift still carried it, but he hadn’t put it back on yet. Somehow that was funny, given the bright red badge displayed proudly upon Megatron’s chest.

 

“Drift.” He directed his gaze back at Megatron, who was wearing an expression of — sincerity? It wasn’t something Drift was unfamiliar with, but the associated memories were much further back than the last times he was with Megatron during the war. Of course, Megatron hadn’t called him by that name in even longer. “You’re right. A simple meeting or two like you had with Magnus or Rodimus wouldn’t even begin to bridge this gap. But I…” He seemed to lose his words, which was incredibly rare for Megatron.

 

Drift turned towards the sparring drone and its holographic display, fiddling manually with some of its settings. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” he remarked.

 

“That would be unbecoming.”

 

Drift snorted but didn’t reply.

 

“I am curious, though.” When Drift still remained quiet, he continued, “It’s not like I haven’t heard about you or your presence on this ship. For a long time, I thought they must be talking about a different person. And then I wondered if you could have changed so radically that I wouldn’t recognize you in others’ anecdotes.”

 

Drift glanced his way as Megatron took a step or two forward. “You know, many would take it as a challenge to just stroll onto the sparring floor.” A superfluous warning was easier to tackle than the real emotion implied in Megatron’s last statement.

 

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Megatron replied. It wasn’t a return warning as it would have been eons ago, but an admission. Ratchet had, of course, told Drift about the Fool’s Energon that Megatron was required to drink. That aside, it probably wouldn’t look good for him to fight another member of the crew, no matter if it _was_ Drift. “I don’t want to fight. I just wanted to talk, whether we talked here or agreed on a time _to_ talk. But I don’t think it would be wise _never_ to talk.”

 

He unsheathed a sword, testing it against the recalibrated hologram. “I see,” Drift said. “Well, to start with, I wasn’t the only one who changed.”

 

Megatron’s frown was clear, even out of the corner of his optic. “I would have thought that was apparent,” he replied.

 

Drift sighed, finally turning to face him again. He pointed with the practice sword, the dull tip of it square on the Autobrand upon Megatron’s chest. “No,” he said. “I’m not talking about this. I’m not talking about the war’s end. You changed long before that, too.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“Do you?” Drift shot back. “I also didn’t seek you out when we got back to the Lost Light because I wasn’t sure you even cared, so what was the point?”

 

The frown deepened, but more than that, Megatron’s field colored with agitation. Admirable thus far, honestly. It couldn’t have been easy for him to have come down here and approach him calmly when they both knew how much of an affront _Deadlock_ defecting had been considered. “Why wouldn’t I have cared?” he said sharply.

 

“Spotty evidence for it,” Drift muttered, and he couldn’t possibly keep the bitterness out of his tone. “You shuffled me off to a remote corner of the galaxy and ignored everything about me or from me, only to instantly put _Lockdown_ on my aft when _Turmoil_ instantly blacklisted me!”

 

Megatron growled, his hands curling into fists at his side. “ _I_ sent Lockdown to bring you back in after nullifying Turmoil’s overzealous labeling of you as a traitor! And then you _proved him right!_ ”

 

Temper flaring, Drift changed the direction of the sword, thrusting it into the soft wall next to Megatron’s shoulder. It wasn’t sharp, but given the material and the force with which he’d pushed it, the blade was buried by a quarter of its length. “He tried to kill me!” Drift spat. “I bet he conveniently forgot that detail! I was staring down his cannon barrel right before running to an escape pod!”

 

There was that curious pull of his features again, a suppression of expression. So Megatron hadn’t known. Go figure. “He said you incited mutiny.”

 

“If saying _I could do better_ and being insubordinate about it is mutinous action punishable by death, you would have killed Starscream millions of years ago,” Drift remarked.

 

Megatron scowled down at him, but he said nothing. What could he say? Starscream had made multiple genuine attempts on his life. Compared to that, Deadlock had been an angel to Turmoil.

 

Still, he let the set of his shoulders loosen, a soft sigh slipping from his lips. “Sorry,” he muttered. “You said you didn’t want to fight.”

 

“In many senses of the word, I can’t,” Megatron said.

 

Drift huffed. “Yeah, Ratchet told me about the Fool’s Energon.” It seemed wrong somehow.

 

Given the topic, Drift didn’t expect the speed with which Megatron grasped him by the shoulders. His world spun, shuddering to a halt with his back pressed to the wall and everything in his field of vision gunmetal grey. He peered up at Megatron, a little stunned.

 

“There’s other things I can still do,” Megatron said softly. His engine purred rather than a full-on rumble, his frame still his arm’s length away — testing this out, as it were.

 

Drift laughed. “That’s the pick-up line you’re going with?” The jab was both good-natured and reazor sharp.

 

Megatron quirked an optic ridge. “I wasn’t aware I needed a line.”

 

“You of the many poems?” Drift said with a grin. “Come on, now. _I’ve_ even seen the ones that never made it to circulation because of… propriety.”

 

The larger mech leaned in, clearly finding more comfort in his teasing and pressing their frames together. “I’m rusty.”

 

Drift hummed. “I guess I’ll let it slide this time, old mech.”

 

At this, Megatron snorted. “ _Old?_ ” he repeated. “Who are _you_ calling old?”

 

Drift tilted his chin back. “Am I wrong?”

 

That had been rhetorical but the ensuing silence answered his question well enough. “Takes one to know one,” Megatron finally replied.

 

Drift smirked. “Guess so,” he replied, finally hooking his legs around Megatron’s waist and pulling him in. “Now, I thought you were going to _show_ me things.”

 

“Brat.”

 

That in itself was a pinpoint of nostalgia; Megatron’s field and frame surrounding him, his spark pulsing rapidly alongside his fuel tank, and that gravelly murmur near his audio. _Brat._ But Drift would contemplate that later, because in the next moment Megatron’s lips were on his neck. Given their previous argument and that he’d been engaged in combat — even just the solo sparring — that set all kinds of alarms pinging his HUD. He dismissed them, but rode on the thrill… the spark of danger.

 

Drift let his engine rev as he squirmed between Megatron and the wall, enjoying the press back, the soft growl from Megatron’s own chassis. With great effort, Drift tugged at Megatron’s helm and managed to pull him into a hungry liplock.

 

So many things could be read into this kiss. Longing, surely. An eagerness for something thought lost to them.

 

But mostly it was the fire of a desire that had never dissipated.

 

They kissed, sharp denta nipping at lips, hands groping over plating that was at once familiar and new, charged energy spiraling high in their fields. Every intake tasted like heady electricity, and soon enough Drift had to break away to try to regulate the sheer heat in his frame.

 

Rather than pausing, Megatron shifted his hands down to Drift’s hips, unwinding the speedster’s legs from his waist. Before Drift could make any sort of question or protest, Megatron’s intention became obvious as he pushed Drift up the wall and let his legs rest over his broad shoulders instead. Drift swallowed, intakes stalling as he peered down his frame at Megatron resting a cheek on his inner thigh.

 

Primus.

 

And yet instead of any of their normal teasing, Megatron just peered frankly up at him, a question reflected in his optics as he asked, “May I?”

 

The plating on his legs quivered at the soft, warm ex-vent. “Please,” Drift rasped, letting the modesty panel slip back.

 

Drift caught the smile on Megatron’s lips before he angled his helm down again and pressed those lips to Drift’s valve instead. Drift moaned, letting his helm roll back against the wall as Megatron’s glossa teased between his folds.

 

He seemed bent on exploring, gently kissing his anterior node before working all around his entrance. Drift gasped, arching off the wall. Megatron just pressed him tighter to it, continuing to rumble from his engine and squeezed Drift’s waist as Drift squeezed his legs around Megatron’s helm.

 

With Megatron eager at this, glossa licking into him to tease the charged nodes in his valve, Drift quickly lost track of the litany of curses he grumbled under his panting intakes. It must have been _something_ , because Megatron snorted from his vents and there was a distinct note of amusement coloring his field.

 

Ugh. _Fragger_.

 

He couldn’t tell if that was a thought which remained internal or if it slipped into his muttering, but either way, Megatron redoubled his efforts. He slipped one of his arms around Drift’s waist, letting his other hand trail down to play with his anterior node, lightly rolling his thumb over it.

 

“Megatron!” Drift hissed, squeezing his legs again. Impending overload tingled the edges of his sensors.

 

Smug amusement rolled through Megatron’s field again, but he gave the node a firmer touch and thrust his glossa as far into Drift’s valve as he could manage. Which, given their difference in size, was farther than many of his partners had been able to.

 

Drift was back to squirming, no matter how still Megatron tried to keep him. But it didn’t matter for that much longer, with the threat of overload becoming a reality. He bit his lip hard — suddenly wary of making too loud a noise, not that it mattered at _this_ point — his hands squeezing at the soft wall against his back while his legs quaked.

 

Megatron shifted both hands to support him again, though he licked a few more times at Drift’s node, as though working out every single quiver and shudder of aftershocks until Drift was near limp, supported by Megatron’s arms and the wall behind him.

 

Eventually, Megatron lifted his helm a little again, resting against Drift’s leg as he’d done earlier. “Good enough for showing?” he asked, that infuriating smirk on his lips again.

 

Drift was still panting, but he managed to frown down at Megatron. “I think I’ll need more than one performance to judge,” he remarked.

 

Megatron let out a soft chuff of laughter. “I thought you might say that.”

 

Drift grinned. “You were the one who said I hadn’t changed _that_ much.”

 

“True,” Megatron replied. “But we should at least take it out of the sparring deck.”

 

Drift shifted, arching his back in a little stretch. “And here I just got comfortable…”

 

Megatron rolled his optics, shifting to bring Drift more into his arms than pressed to the wall. “If that’s all, I know of several good walls to have you against,” he murmured.

 

Drift grinned again, slipping his arms around Megatron in response to their rearrangement. There was still so much to discuss between them, but surely… it would help to get all this out of their systems first. Or at least, that’s what he told himself as he let Megatron guide them away from the sparring deck, the droid in standby, forgotten.

 

One step at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please come say hi over at [twitter!](http;//twitter.com/decepticats)


End file.
